


Getting Better

by signifying_nothing



Category: K-pop, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2016-03-13
Packaged: 2018-05-26 11:41:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6237217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/signifying_nothing/pseuds/signifying_nothing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>namjoon still can't believe this is happening, even though it's been a little less than a year.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Getting Better

**Author's Note:**

> a quick and dirty exercise wherein jimin is helping namjoon save yoongi and himself.

The problem, Namjoon thinks, is that ninety-seven percent of the time (until very recently) there was no safe speed with Yoongi. It's all either zero or a hundred, there is no middle ground and at the moment he's up on a high, laughing, dancing, drinking with their friends and it's beautiful, but the inevitable crash back down is one he's dreading. Yoongi's lows correlate directly to how high he feels beforehand, so he's trying to keep an eye on him, in case the drop happens too quickly for him to make sure Yoongi gets out of here before he loses his shit completely.

It's exhausting to be so on edge all the time.

But in the three minutes he uses to go to the bathroom and check his phone, Yoongi is gone, and no one knows where he went, and Namjoon has the choking, heart-squeezing fear that he has to go out to the balcony, to the roof, fuck, Yoongi can't be left alone like this, he can't and no one saw him leave—

His phone rings.

_Min Yoongi_

“Hyung, where are you?”

“Oh, I'm outside,” Yoongi sounds strangely put together. “I was... Starting to feel weird, so I went downstairs to have a cigarette, I'm out at the car.”

“Oh,” Namjoon says, right hand still clutching at his chest. “Oh, okay. Do you want to go home?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“I'll be right down.”

Namjoon feels like he's in the twilight zone. He'll never get used to this. He says goodbye to Jeongguk, promises to be by tomorrow to help clean up the mess his new place is quickly becoming, and heads outside.

Yoongi is right where he said he was, leaning on the hood of the car with a cigarette between his lips, his thumb scrolling up and down on his phone. He glances up at Namjoon when the movement catches his attention and Namjoon smiles a little. Yoongi's coming down but not hard. He's coming down but not fast. And he'd taken initiative to leave on his own, even if his reason was, _I was starting to feel weird._ He'll never get used to this.

“Hey,” he says, and Yoongi smiles at him.

“Hey.”

“You ready to go home?”

“Yeah. Yeah I just kinda thought... I needed to.”

Namjoon can't put into words how fucking amazing it is that Min Yoongi is starting to recognize his own behaviors, after twenty-five years of being in staunch denial. Maybe it was the fight that ended with Jimin in tears, maybe it was his bloodied fist in the broken glass of the bathroom mirror, where he'd been staring at a reflection of himself like he didn't know who he was looking at, but Namjoon is glad it's happening.

“Did Jimin call?”

“Yeah,” Yoongi says. “I was gonna call him back?”

“Good plan. He'll wanna know we're coming back early.”

Yoongi nods and Namjoon waits until they're both settled and buckled in before he starts the car. He wants to get home, home to Jimin, home to their apartment. Jimin hates coming out to the parties where they'll be drinking. He doesn't care that they do it, he just doesn't want to be there to see it, so he stays at home, does extra work, waits to see if he has to lecture or congratulate them when they arrive.

Namjoon will never be able to describe how good it feels to listen to Yoongi talk coherently to Jimin on the phone. He's tipsy but not drunk, and his lisp is heavy. He can imagine the look that would have been on Jimin's face ten months ago: _hyung is sober?_ But Namjoon will talk to him about the success of the evening when they get home. In the meantime, he holds Yoongi's hand over the console, rubbing their thumbs together.

Yoongi gets quieter and quieter the closer they get to home. He's coming down but not hard and Namjoon doesn't try to make him speak, just pulls the car into their driveway and lets him climb out, watching after him as he heads inside.

He'll never get used to not having to be Yoongi's keeper, not after so long of making sure that he didn't hurt himself or anyone else in fits of mood swings, those violent or destructive behaviors he'd had no idea how to deal with for most of their time together. He used to contain Yoongi with violence; they'd beat the shit out of one another and Namjoon always won because he was bigger, broader, had the size advantage over Yoongi, who was as easy to grip tight as a greased weasel.

But then Jimin had come into the picture and violence wasn't allowed anymore. Then it was containment; lock him up, tie him down, do whatever was necessary to keep him from being able to hurt anyone. Jimin hated it when they fought and Namjoon could understand, but sometimes Yoongi's mouth got too hot too fast and when he was spitting acid all Namjoon could do was clock him in the jaw and hope that shut him up. Then everything has changed and Namjoon still can't believe it.

As he walks into the apartment, he sees Yoongi with his head on Jimin's shoulder while Jimin's hands rub up and down his narrow back. He watches Yoongi shuffle off to the bedroom with Jimin's understanding smile following after.

“S'he okay?” Namjoon asks, once Yoongi is out of sight and earshot.

“I think so,” Jimin says. “He said he feels weird and just wants to go to bed. Not sick, though, not like vomiting.”

“He left on his own. Met me down at the car.”

Namjoon smiles and Jimin smiles back at him, the sweet little almost-dimple on the side of his mouth gathering a shadow. “He's getting better, hyung,” Jimin says, and Namjoon knows it's true. Yoongi is getting better, and though he knows his older friend doesn't really see it, he's so glad.

He wraps his arms around Jimin and rests his neck and chin on top of his head, swaying back and forth. Jimin hugs his waist and sighs in contentment. They stay there for a few long minutes before Jimin yawns so wide his jaw cracks and Namjoon frowns.

“Come on, sleepy,” he says, reaching down to hold Jimin's hand like he'd held Yoongi's in the car. “Lets get to bed.” They go through the process of brushing teeth, washing faces—Yoongi's toothbrush is wet and he left his face wipe on the counter as always—and when they get into the bedroom Yoongi is already tucked up small under the blankets.

Namjoon catches Jimin's smile in the corner of his eye and pulls off his t-shirt and jeans, changes into a clean tanktop and basketball shorts to sleep. He sleeps at Yoongi's front, when Yoongi is in the middle of the bed. Usually it's Jimin in the middle, but on the rare occasion both Namjoon and Yoongi have been known to curl up in the middle of the bed and wait to be wrapped up on all sides. He lays down at Yoongi's front and as Jimin climbs into bed to spoon against his back, he reaches out to cup Yoongi's jaw, rubbing his thumb over his cheek.

“M'so proud of you,” he whispers, close to Yoongi's mouth when he gives him a goodnight kiss to the corner of those soft pink lips. “I love you.” He says it and he hears Jimin say the same thing into Yoongi's neck, isn't surprised when Yoongi's arm reaches out from under his pillow to keep him close. He feels the blankets shift and knows Yoongi's other arm is reaching out for Jimin. He feels the bed protest and knows Jimin is pressed as close as he can be to Yoongi, face in the back of his neck, their hands tangled together somewhere around Yoongi's hip.

He doesn't know what Jimin is murmuring into Yoongi's ear. He can't quite hear it over the whir of their fan and the soft music playing from the “noisemaking machine” Yoongi has to keep the room from being silent (ever) but he knows that it's making Yoongi shiver, making him bite his lip. He doesn't move. He doesn't move until he feels Yoongi clench his hand in his shirt, yank him closer.

“Jimin,” he chides, his voice rough. He's tired. “S'mean. Thought you were tired.”

He can imagine the expression on Jimin's face; playful apology. Sincere, but having no intention of stopping. Jimin does this; praises Yoongi quietly in the dark. More than once Namjoon has woken up to Yoongi face-up in the bed, legs spread and Jimin on top of him, inside of him, all but singing his praises, so beautiful, so strong, so loved.

Namjoon used to stop Yoongi with violence. Jimin tried to contain his rages. But ever since the argument ten months ago—the one that had Jimin in tears, because Yoongi had all but shouted, _I'm being irrational, I know I'm being fucking irrational, please, god, just leave me the fuck alone, get out, please!_ Jimin had cried, because Yoongi had never been able to acknowledge such a thing. Never had Yoongi outright admitted that something was wrong with him, that he wasn't behaving like a normal, rational person, and Jimin had cried into Namjoon's shoulder because admitting you had a problem was the first step to recovery or at least, in Yoongi's case, to being happier.

So this was how Jimin chose to help. Reward Yoongi every time he manages to realize the changes in his behavior. He won't take medication and Namjoon can't blame him, but slowly he's getting better. Getting better all the time.

He bends to kiss Yoongi's mouth, slightly open, tongue soft on his bottom lip. “You did so good, hyung.” Namjoon isn't as good at praise as Jimin is, but he knows he's doing the right thing because Yoongi makes a soft hiccuping sound and drags him closer, throws a leg over his hip and tips his head back to offer his neck. Namjoon doesn't even have to kiss that thin skin; just speaking against it, breathing, has his older lover shivering and gasping for air, hand fisted in his shirt, leg tensing.

He can't see what Jimin is doing to Yoongi in the dark, but he can feel the way he is moving back and forth, can feel him force his leg away from Namjoon so his shorts can be pulled off. He reaches down to rest his hand on Yoongi's waist and smiles into his neck when Jimin meets him there for a kiss, a bite on the lip. Yoongi's hand slides up into Namjoon's hair as his hips jerk back and forth and now he can hear Jimin's voice, can feel the words he's saying as he pushes Yoongi against Namjoon. “Hold him,” he breathes, and Namjoon moves his hand to cup one cheek of Yoongi's tiny little backside, squeezing and his fingertips feel Jimin sinking in, his hair is shifting under Yoongi's gasp.

“So good, hyung,” Jimin is whispering as he pushes all the way in and Namjoon lets go to slide his hand under Yoongi's knee, lifting his leg up over his hip. “Namjoon hyung told me, you did so good, feel so good, Yoongi.”

Under normal circumstances Yoongi wouldn't allow that sort of thing, would get annoyed and smack Jimin on the arm, but for now he rocks his hips and reaches down to push Namjoon's shorts out of the way, wrapping one hand around him and Namjoon hisses. He's not fully hard yet but he will be, with Yoongi's small, cool hand wrapped around his length. He pushes his hips forward so he and Yoongi are pressed together at the groin, feels precum and soft skin and the sweat on Yoongi's belly. He pulls Yoongi's head down to be able to kiss him, listens to Jimin speak in low, warm tones and feels Yoongi shifting as Jimin thrusts, yanks his leg back and over, pushes closer until Yoongi's littler body is trapped between the two of them, suffocated.

“I love you,” Jimin whispers, snapping his hips forward hard and staying there. Namjoon imagines he can feel Jimin coming, can feel his sizable girth pushing all the way in and twitching as he shudders into orgasm. “I love you, Yoongi, I love you so much.”

“Jimin,” Yoongi's voice cracks a little and Namjoon feels his hips jerk, feels his own groin pull tight and cums in a wet mess, reaching down to catch as much as he can and wrap his hand around their lengths and strokes until Yoongi is jerking his hips back and forth and coming in a slow, heavy spill with their names in his mouth and his hands—one reaching back to fist in Jimin's hair, the other digging nails into Namjoon's bicep. “Namjoon. Namjoon.”

Namjoon strokes lazily, thrusting against his own wet hand and Yoongi's wet cock until they're both mostly soft and he really should get up to get cleaned up. He forces himself to sit up and smiles when Yoongi whines like some kind of kicked kitten.

“Lemme wash my hands, babe,” he says, and Yoongi frowns. He bends to kiss the expression off his face. “I'll be right back.”

In the bathroom, Namjoon washes his hands and looks into the mirror they'd replaced after Yoongi shattered the last one. He thinks about walking in on that mess, Yoongi's bloodied hands and blank face. How he'd panicked and spread his blood all over Namjoon's shirt when Namjoon said they had to go to the hospital, how he'd begged him not to, he was fine, god, he was fine. Thinks about how Jimin walked into the bathroom and didn't let Yoongi get a word in edgewise as he wrapped his hands, his movements fierce and tight; how Jimin had told Yoongi he was disappointed and Yoongi had just crumbled into tears _I'm sorry, I'm sorry, god I don't want to be sick anymore, I don't want to be sick_.

How fucking far he's come in less than a year. How fucking amazing it is to watch him change, grow and soften in front of his very eyes. Namjoon thinks about Jimin's smiling face every time the two of them come home and Yoongi isn't drunk, how it still surprises him. He thinks about how their arguments are less and less frequent as they learn how to maneuver around and with one another. He thinks about how adding Jimin to their relationship made everything seem more... Hopeful.

“You're taking too long,” Jimin says, and Namjoon blinks out of his thoughts, smiling a little.

“S'he asleep?”

“Mmhm. Wiped him off with your shorts. Like I said, you took too long.” Jimin wraps his arms around Namjoon's waist and kisses his shoulder; wiggles up close and Namjoon laughs.

“Even you can't get it up again that fast, Park Jimin,” he says, and Jimin giggles into his skin, shaking his head.

“Can't,” he admits. “S'always tomorrow morning, hyung. Yoongi might like that, uh? Make him wait his turn, tell him what a good boy he is. He's getting better.” Jimin squeezes his arms. “He's getting better.”

“I love you, you know,” Namjoon murmurs, turning around to trap Jimin against his chest, kissing his forehead, his eyebrows, the bridge of his nose and his soft, waiting mouth. “I love you.” Jimin melts into him like he has since day one and Namjoon is grateful.

He's grateful to have Jimin, who adores him and who kisses away the residual stress of being constantly vigilant around Yoongi, who he no longer has to be vigilant for. He's grateful for the way Jimin can _talk_ to Yoongi in ways that he never can, grateful that Jimin talks to him, too. The addition of words, communication and gentleness, firm expectation, has changed so much about his life. Their lives.

Yoongi is getting better and Namjoon—

“I love you more, hyung.”

Namjoon is getting better, too.

 


End file.
